


Little Prince

by R Cooper (rispacooper)



Category: Being(s) In Love, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Curses, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, First Kiss, M/M, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/R%20Cooper
Summary: A fairy tale AU to the book Little Wolf.Of course, if Tim had been alone he would have admitted to admiring Nathaniel’s height and breadth. He might have confessed to fantasies of biting the smooth brown column of Nathaniel’s throat, and dreams of pulling Nathaniel’s cloak and tunic away to mark Nathaniel’s perfect skin with his hands. Timothy had no way to know if Nathaniel’s skin was perfect but he assumed it was. Everything about Nathaniel was perfect. His height, his looks, his manner, even the location of the kingdom he would inherit. It was the reason they were betrothed.That, and the curse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a silly fluffy thing I wrote while I was working on Little Wolf, because Little Wolf was hard to write, and this was stress relief. There is adorable fanart for it I will post soon with the artist's permission.

“How in all the Hells did I end up here?” Timothy howled at the sky then lowered his head to direct his wrath at a more logical target. “With _you_?” he added a moment later, letting the words drip with disdain because disdain was really all he had at this point. His best escape yet, a combination of stealth and cunning and outright speed, had gotten him the furthest from his uncle’s castle—and the tower Timothy called home—than he’d gotten in years. And what happened when he finally entered the Shastian Wildwoods in an attempt to cross into Neri? He stumbled into a night sentry from the Prince of Neri’s camp who had stepped away from the main group to piss, and the sentry brought Timothy straight to the prince. Of course. 

Nathaniel of Neri watched Timothy’s rant in careful silence. It was one of his more annoying habits, although not as annoying as his way of waiting until Timothy had calmed down to offer a comment on Timothy’s latest exploit. 

Timothy glared up at him and was once again irked by their height difference. It didn’t mean anything in itself; Timothy was shorter than most everyone in his family and many of courtiers besides. But Nathaniel of Neri was another matter. He was tall and broad even among people known for their height and size. He was big so people listened to him. As naturally as breathing people listened to him, and took him seriously, and didn’t stare at him as if he was some sort of changeling left behind by the Sneaky Folk. When people looked at Prince Nathaniel it was with respect, or lust, or some combination of the two. 

Timothy absolutely refused to stare at him in the same way. He might be short by the standards of his family, and covered in brambles, and wearing a dress that had been used as a clever disguise, but he was still a prince of equal if not greater rank than Nathaniel of Neri. 

Of course, if Tim had been alone he would have admitted to admiring Nathaniel’s height and breadth. He might have confessed to fantasies of biting the smooth brown column of Nathaniel’s throat, and dreams of pulling Nathaniel’s cloak and tunic away to mark Nathaniel’s perfect skin with his hands. Timothy had no way to know if Nathaniel’s skin was perfect but he assumed it was. Everything about Nathaniel was perfect. His height, his looks, his manner, even the location of the kingdom he would inherit. It was the reason they were betrothed. 

That, and the curse. 

Timothy scowled harder to think of the curse and was not surprised when his displeasure got no reaction from the other prince other than his continuing attention. Just once Timothy wanted to get a reaction out of Nathaniel that wasn’t that blank assessment. Anyone who hadn’t heard Nathaniel’s dry remarks aimed in Timothy’s direction would have assumed he was stupid. Sadly, he wasn’t. There was a mind behind his pretty face. 

At the silence, Timothy flicked his glare further up, from Nathaniel’s shoulders to his eyes. He paused as he always did, stunned and suddenly breathless, to see those large golden eyes fixed on him, the long, dark lashes the same shade as his short black hair, the thick eyebrows, the straight nose and perfect, full mouth. 

Tim had overheard servants praising that mouth, wondering how it would feel, envying Timothy for getting to taste that mouth for himself. Timothy had some idea of what the servants meant, although most of what they’d said had been outside his limited knowledge of the activities in the marriage bed. 

He realized he was staring and that his face was growing hot, and he jabbed a finger in the space between them. “I’m not supposed to be here!”

“And yet here you are.” Nathaniel spoke at last. Tim curled his hands at his sides and considered how to throw a punch. He doubted it would land. Prince Nathaniel had trained with his knights and wore a sword he knew how to use. Timothy, in contrast, had been locked in a tower with books for company when his uncle had deemed Timothy a danger to himself. He could read and write in six languages and speak in none of them save his own. But in that one he could and would speak as clearly and decisively as the king he’d one day be.

“Here I bloody well am.” Timothy crossed his arms then uncrossed them because it made his borrowed dress pull up under his chest. The dress was stretched tight across his shoulders and hung loose everywhere else on him. It was also the color of pale spring roses with a blue trim that exactly matched his eyes—an unfortunate accident that made it seem as if he’d chosen the dress for that reason. 

“Do you ever think about that?” Nathaniel crossed his arms too. He’d taken off the leather he usually wore while riding, leaving him in a simple tunic shirt and breeches. The sentry who had found Timothy had recognized him despite the dress and brought him to the small stone house on the edge of the Wildwoods. It was just Timothy’s luck that Nathaniel had been using his family’s hunting lodge tonight. From the way Nathaniel was dressed, Timothy’s arrival had either called him from his bed or someone else’s, and the large canopied bed behind Nathaniel appeared untouched. 

Timothy’s stomach tightened. He blamed it on the prince and glared even harder. He was certain Nathaniel had already sent a note to his uncle the Regent to tell him they had found the errant Prince Timothy. Timothy was likely to be returned to his tower at any moment. He didn’t see what they had left to talk about it or why Nathaniel would insist on being so damn reasonable. “Think about what?” he demanded at last. 

“Why you always end up finding me despite your best intentions?” Nathaniel stepped over to a table not far from the bed and grabbed a scrap of linen. He poured some water on it then crossed over to Timothy and held it out. 

Taking that as a sign that he had dirt on his face, Timothy snatched the cloth from him and threw it to the floor. Nathaniel’s gaze followed after it. When he raised his eyes again there was a small, unhappy smile at his perfect mouth but he nodded as if unsurprised. 

“I didn’t find you,” Timothy hissed, even more irritable because he was acting childish and he knew it. “I found a damn border sentry.”

“Why even come through Neri on your way to freedom, or wherever it is you’re going?” Nathaniel turned away, taking a few moments to pull fur-lined boots over his bare feet as if his toes were cold. The room was rather chilly. The fire had only been lit after Timothy’s arrival. 

Timothy opened his mouth but paused before answering, unexpectedly thrown by the idea that Nathaniel of Neri had toes that grew cold the same as any other man. It wasn’t that Timothy didn’t think of Nathaniel as a man—obviously he was a man, a beautiful man, a perfect man—it was just that… Timothy didn’t think of him as a man. It was better that way. Now here Nathaniel was, tired and cold and no doubt missing the physical attentions of some harlot, or worse, some friend who often shared his bed. Some friend he called lover. 

Timothy took a step back. “I… this border is close to the river.” He made himself focus on the discussion again and not on Nathaniel in love with someone else. “I could take the river to the ocean. Then I could go anywhere, anywhere in the world.” That had been his goal ever since their betrothal had been officially confirmed. Timothy had been twelve then, although the contract between the two kingdoms guaranteeing Timothy’s hand on his twentieth birthday had been arranged the week of his birth. Somewhere out there had to be a way to break the curse and Timothy intended to find it He’d go to the ends of the earth if he had to, and he said as much. 

“That far?” Nathaniel glanced at him, then away. “With what skills were you hoping to make a living, Little Prince? I hope more than just your handsome face.”

“Don’t call me that!” Timothy shouted, fully prepared to risk a sword for the chance to try punching his betrothed, just once. 

“The name has always angered you.” Nathaniel angled his head to the side then sighed and wiped a hand over his mouth. 

“Was it supposed to make me happy?” Timothy’s voice continued to rise. It always did in Nathaniel’s presence. Everything his uncle tried to instill in him, diplomacy, tact, manners, always disappeared when faced with this one man. Timothy vividly recalled trying to scale the castle walls at twelve and getting caught in a nest of thorns. He’d been rescued by a knight and his entourage who had been approaching the castle. Timothy had thought the knight the most handsome man he’d ever seen. The handsome knight had wiped the scratches and blood from Timothy’s arms and face, and laughed in a gentle way that had only convinced Timothy the knight was the shining epitome of chivalry. 

Then Timothy had noticed the Neri crest of a black wolf and the emblem of the royal house on his knight’s shield, and realized he was in the hands of his future captor. He’d nearly thrown himself under a horse in his efforts to escape the prince’s care and had burned with humiliation when the prince had saved him from that, too. 

Nathaniel had only deepened the wound by revealing he’d recognized Timothy from his family’s famous blue eyes and dubbing him, “Little Prince.” Timothy would have hated him for that alone even if he hadn’t been destined to someday take Timothy in marriage. 

“I know I’m little,” Timothy snarled at him, “I don’t need you making me into more of a joke.” He was very aware of the fact that he was saying this while wearing a stolen, ill-fitting dress. 

“I never meant it as a joke, not as a mean-spirited one.” Nathaniel kept himself still, the way one did around stray dogs and wild animals. “You were frightened. I was trying to calm you. Then it just… became my name for you.” He took a breath. “I will stop calling you that if it bothers you that much.”

Timothy flicked a cautious look in Nathaniel’s direction. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“It does, if it bothers you,” Nathaniel insisted, exactly like the shining prince he always was. 

Timothy crossed his arms again. “It doesn’t. If what I wanted mattered I wouldn’t be marrying you, now would I?”

Nathaniel flinched. He always seemed taken aback by Timothy’s blunt attitude toward their betrothal. Nathaniel was generally polite about it but Timothy knew someone like Nathaniel had his choice of the populace if he wanted a lover, and he certainly could have commanded a better husband-to-be from any of the other nearby kingdoms, even if their countries shared a border and were traditionally allied with each other. 

Besides, if Nathaniel did have a friend who shared his bed, who cared for him and got to claim him as their own, then they wouldn’t want him marrying Timothy. Nathaniel could be infuriatingly polite about it until doomsday but Timothy knew there wasn’t much about him that would to appeal to Nathaniel. Timothy wasn’t tall and breathtakingly handsome. He was less than tall, and rather than handsome, he was, well… Nathaniel had once told him he was charming, and though that had likely been more of Nathaniel’s courtly manners, Timothy hung on to the memory. In truth he was far from charming. He spoke loudly and out of turn, all his knowledge came from books, and his dancing skills were abominable. At the ball for his eighteenth birthday he’d discovered that with Nathaniel distractedly close to him he lost his ability to move his body with anything resembling grace. 

After one too many times tripping forward into the warmth of Prince Nathaniel’s chest, Tim had bolted from the ballroom. Amid the titters from the watching crowd, he’d run into the garden, startling several couples taking advantage of the dark. From the garden he’d gone to the stables, hiding himself away in one of the stalls in a pile of soft hay and falling asleep not long after. He’d woken to Nathaniel’s worried face and the knowledge that he’d chosen the stall holding Prince Nathaniel’s horse. 

It wasn’t fair. All Timothy wanted was to make up his own mind, to not be trapped in this agony alone forever. But there seemed to be no escape, and tonight was further proof. He sighed and flopped down into a nearby chair. “How long until my uncle’s men arrive? Shall I be spending the night?” 

His uncle was going to tighten the restrictions on Timothy’s behavior for sure now, although he might be slightly mollified to learn Timothy had not endangered his life this time. Then again, he might not see it that way if he knew about Timothy sneaking past the armed guards in the guardhouse. The next two months were going to be difficult. Two more months of freedom and then Tim would turn twenty. The throne would be his. So would Nathaniel. 

“The night?” Of course Nathaniel would take that question the opposite of how Timothy had intended it. “You won’t be spending the night.” Or not. Timothy had been wrong. His face grew hot again. 

“Fine.” He didn’t want to spend the night in Neri, even if there were fewer guards around him, and Nathaniel was too kind to lock Timothy away somewhere as Timothy’s uncle would have done. Nathaniel likely couldn’t wait to get back to bed. 

Timothy swallowed and risked another study of Prince Nathaniel. Nathaniel remained on his feet, watching Timothy as he always did, as if he’d never seen anything like him. It made Timothy remember his “diplomatic” trips to Neri to present himself—be forcibly presented by his uncle—to Nathaniel’s parents and siblings. He didn’t know who had been more surprised when Timothy had tried to conceal himself in a rolled up rug only to be unrolled in the throne room in front of the queen, the king, Nathaniel, and Nathaniel’s brother and sister—the royal family, or himself. 

He’d stared at the family in horror and then immediately turned to Nathaniel and that carefully blank expression of his. He’d been startled when Nathaniel had smiled. Nathaniel’s siblings, both younger, had seemed to think it equally funny. Timothy’s uncle, however, had been convinced Timothy had offered Neri a monstrous insult, and Timothy had spent the rest of the visit surrounded by guards when not in Nathaniel’s presence. 

The queen and king had been polite about the whole thing. As polite as their eldest son, in fact, which only convinced Timothy more that he would be ill-suited to be Nathaniel’s husband. What would Nathaniel want with a husband who never failed to speak his mind? Yes, Timothy had studied estate management and maths and languages, but so had many other nobles and royals. There was nothing special about him to recommend him to someone as great as Nathaniel Neri. They were a poor match. Nathaniel would be miserable and it did neither of them good to pretend otherwise. 

“So when will my uncle’s men be arriving?” Timothy tugged at his dress, wishing for a change of clothes, or at least better shoes. The dress, unfortunately, had required dress slippers of silk and his feet were blocks of ice. He tried to curl his toes and made a noise when he couldn’t. 

“They won’t.” Nathaniel made a sudden impatient, almost furious, noise and ripped a fur throw from the bed. He stormed across to Timothy with such energy that Timothy remained stuck in his seat, unable to move as Nathaniel approached. Nathaniel tossed the fur at him and held up a hand before Timothy could think to form words. “Just use it. You’re obviously cold. It’s not going to make us more betrothed than we were yesterday.”

Timothy sucked in a breath then closed his mouth. The fur easily reached the floor. He dug his feet into it to warm them even while he was trying to find a way to stubbornly reject the offering. He supposed accepting one kind act would do them no further harm. “Fine,” he finally allowed, “Thank you.” Then he remembered what had just been said. “What? What do you mean they won’t?”

“I mean, I didn’t send word to the Regent.” Nathaniel was regarding Timothy draped in the fur with an expression that Timothy could only describe as very satisfied. “The more he tries to keep you from endangering yourself in your escape attempts, the more trouble you get into. There has to be a better way, like conversation. Since you’re here, _again_ ,” Nathaniel was only less than perfect when he was being dry and cutting, “don’t you think we should talk about this?” 

“No. There’s nothing to talk about.” Timothy sank deeper into the fur. “You can stop being so nice about it, visiting repeatedly, sending me those letters. We both know you’re looking forward to this about as much as I am. Go back to bed with whoever it is you obviously prefer and leave me to plot our way out of this.” 

Sooner or later, one of his escapes would work. He had to figure out a way around the curse. Then he’d stop finding Nathaniel instead of his destiny. It was just like his uncle to anticipate that and ban all books on magic from the castle except for the ones kept locked in the wizard’s chambers. 

At sixteen Timothy had snuck into the wizard’s chambers to borrow a book on breaking spells, but he must have read something wrong. Instead of breaking a curse he’d fallen into a deep sleep and to his mortification, Nathaniel had been summoned to kiss him awake. 

The saving grace of the whole incident was that Timothy remembered nothing of the kiss, only waking up to Nathaniel’s remarkable gaze fixed on him. Of course, then he’d humiliated himself by touching his fingers to Nathaniel’s mouth and blushing when Nathaniel had smiled in happy relief. Timothy had lurched out of bed in the next moment, landing in a heap to the floor, and had promptly been marched up to the tower that he would call his chambers until his wedding by his furious and worried uncle. The last thing he’d seen before being led from the room had been Nathaniel watching him from where he’d still been kneeling at Timothy’s bedside.

“Your plots always seem to end with me. Doesn’t that concern you?” Nathaniel’s tone was almost desperate. “At all?”

Timothy waved that off. “That’s just the curse rearing its ugly head.” 

To this day he didn’t know what his parents had done to anger a member of the Sneaky Folk so much that they’d inflict this on their son. An arranged marriage was one thing, but magic to force it to happen, to take away what little control the children could take in the event? That was pure spite. Timothy would have done his duty if not for that, that horrible blight forever in his future, tying him to Nathaniel no matter what he did. 

He looked up again at Nathaniel’s silence. “It’s probably worse for you.” Timothy hadn’t really considered that either, deliberately, because thinking of Nathaniel wishing to be rid of him was the kind of painful thought to leave him moping for days. Now here he was, alone with Nathaniel in his bedroom, his cold, lonely bedroom that Nathaniel hadn’t even been using because he’d had somewhere else he’d rather be. Timothy sighed. “I have known of the curse my every waking moment, but you grew up without it. You can remember a time when you were truly free. Well, as free as a royal can be.” There was always duty. 

“Little Prin--” Nathaniel stopped himself in the middle of the nickname. “Timothy. Of what curse do you speak?”

Timothy lifted his head in surprise. “The curse. Our betrothal and the fairy “gift” that came with it.” He didn’t know why Nathaniel would need this explained; he’d been there as much as Timothy had. 

“There was no curse.” Nathaniel spoke slowly. 

Timothy shook his head. “I read the accounts. ‘The fairy Robin’s Egg spread her wings over the babe in the cradle and the young boy-prince at his side and pronounced the words in her tongue to ensure the union between the two kingdoms.’”

“Yes. I was there,” Nathaniel interrupted. It was the rudest he’d ever been. 

Timothy gaped at him for a moment, then settled back in his seat. “Then you know she doomed us to each other. Not just marriage, oh no, she cursed us to this fate. You’re inescapable, like destiny. At least until we break the spell.”

“That isn’t what she said.” Nathaniel stared at Timothy for a long time without so much as blinking. “That isn’t what she said at all.”

“Yes it is!” Timothy’s voice cracked. “Obviously it is. She said we were bound, and in that our nations would find happiness. She bound us unto death. Wedding or not, I’m--” Timothy stuttered as he hadn’t since he was sixteen with his mouth buzzing from a kiss he couldn’t remember “--I’m yours. You are the only one I think of ever since I first saw you. You are perfect, and I am--” He yanked the fur up to his chin and ignored his stinging face. “I am the thing you can’t escape.”

“Little Prince.” Nathaniel came forward so swiftly Timothy had no time to move away. Nathaniel frowned down at him and then to Timothy’s utter shock he got to his knees so Timothy had little choice but to look back at him. 

“Yes, you are perfect to me,” Timothy growled at him. “And I am a stunted, pale, reader of books who cannot joust or even ride a horse with dignity. I cannot dance, and when you take me to bed I will have no skills there either, not like your… not like whoever you might prefer. I would have consented if not for that.” He dropped his head and studied Nathaniel’s throat. “It is worse than all the Hells knowing I feel this and you feel nothing.”

“Timothy.” Nathaniel exhaled his name. “Little Prince. Look at me. Please. Just once, voluntarily look at me instead of acting as if I disgust you.” 

It was the shaky note in his voice, a note Timothy had never heard before, which made him raise his eyes. Then he went still. Prince Nathaniel seemed stunned, a faint color darkening his skin even further, an almost feverish glow in his eyes. His mouth was open, his full lips parted. Timothy remembered touching them, and cast his gaze safely elsewhere once again. 

“There is no curse,” Nathaniel pronounced, taking his time as if he needed the words to be clear. “For years you hated me because of an imaginary curse.” He shook his head then put his hands on either side of Timothy’s seat. Timothy’s eyes were again drawn to his. Everything in Timothy was drawn to him and always had been, always would be. It wasn’t fair. 

Nathaniel shook his head again. “There was no curse. Robin’s Egg bound us because we were already bound. She foresaw our fates—our hearts—and spoke of them and our families betrothed us, as they probably would have with or without a fairy gift. We were bound together unto death but in our union our nations would find happiness. It was a blessing. A blessing.” Nathaniel’s warm tone did not last long. “A _curse_? I could strangle you. For _years_ I have--” 

“But. No. That isn’t…” Timothy was _too_ warm now. “I read it and then I met you and you were… you! You don’t want me. Look at you and then look at me and my everything!”

“I have.” Nathaniel’s nearness was affecting Timothy’s body again and his ability to react. 

Timothy was not certain where to look. “You don’t want me,” he argued at last. “You were forced into this just as I was.”

“As a child it felt that way,” Nathaniel agreed. Timothy shot him a surprised glance. Nathaniel’s eyes were closed. “I was raised fully aware I was going to marry you, and though I remembered dear Aunt Robin’s Egg’s blessing, I had no concept of what love was, or what she had been trying to tell me. Then I got older and I felt differently.”

Timothy failed to keep the curiosity from his voice. “Differently?”

Nathaniel was still kneeling before him. “My beloved aunt died. I was fourteen and all I had left of her was her gift to me. I thought about it often over the next few years and I realized what a gift it truly was. Unlike everyone else who has to search, maybe spend a whole life searching, I knew exactly where my true love was, and he was waiting for me the same way I was waiting for him. Or so I thought.”

“You were looking forward to meeting me again?” Timothy pushed the fur away, irritated with the warmth coursing through his skin and restless with how Nathaniel refused to move from his position at Timothy’s feet. 

Timothy had thrown himself over the castle wall and Nathaniel had simply been there, waiting.

“I was only eighteen. I had no idea what I was in for.” Nathaniel’s tone was hardly a match to what he was saying. 

Timothy frowned at him. “What were you in for?”

“Being treated like a monster. Being thought of as so frightening and repulsive that you threw yourself under a horse only minutes after meeting me. In your efforts to escape me you’ve put yourself under a nearly irreversible sleeping spell and almost broken your neck twice that I know of. You danced with me and barely said two words and then slept in the stable rather than spend another minute with me. If it didn’t hurt so much I’d admire your persistence. Part of me still does. In response to it I refused to give up as well.” He paused. “You never answered my letters.”

“I kept them.” It was impossible not to flush and feel stupid at the admission, or at the heavy way Nathaniel considered him. The careful study no longer seemed designed to irritate. Instead it was more cautious, the look of a man who was not sure of his welcome. Timothy continued to frown, mostly out of habit. “But I am small and bookish, an embarrassment. Your family--”

“Think I have always been too serious, and have never been so entertained as when you fling your sharp words at me and show up in unexpected places,” Nathaniel cut in before Timothy could finish. “Although they did not understand your reluctance to marry me any more than I did. My father thought it was nerves. My mother,” Nathaniel’s voice went dry again. “My mother suggested a different reason and an entirely different approach. Now I wonder…”

“You have wanted to marry me all along?” Timothy could not believe it. “But you are handsome, kind and honorable and brave, just as a prince should be.”

“And you are clever and fearless and determined, _exactly_ what a prince should be.” Nathaniel shifted and somehow their bodies were much closer. Nathaniel was between Timothy’s knees, or would be if he continued in that direction and Timothy’s skirt were not in the way. “I have wanted to speak you, to know you, since we were boys. I knew it was as my aunt had predicted, but I did not understand what that meant until you made your first visit to Neri, the moment the servants unrolled the rug to reveal you, irritated and disheveled. Your eyes found mine before you tried to get to your feet. They were wide and bright and happy to see me, just for a moment. You had clearly meant to be smuggled out of the castle but you had ended up back with me, and before you began yelling you looked for me until you found me, and you were happy.”

Knowing himself so obvious was shaming but it was Nathaniel who was flushed with emotion. “Then I was happy too, happier than I had ever been before. There is no one else like you, Timothy of House Dirus. I like your height. You are not so little. When we danced I thought how nice it was to have your head at my shoulder.”

“You did?” It was the barest squeak. Timothy could not fully believe what he was hearing but he had no reason to doubt it. Not even Prince Nathaniel was so polite as to pretend to be in love. 

Nathaniel nodded. “You were awkward as a boy but so was I. At eighteen I still had knobby knees and feet I hadn’t grown into. I’m sure you noticed.” Tim pretended that he had, watching Nathaniel in open fascination as he kept talking. “At sixteen you were clumsy but your skin was starting to clear, and when I kissed you, you woke up. For a few moments I feared you wouldn’t and Robin’s Egg had been wrong after all. But you woke and I knew then it was true. You were meant to be mine as I was meant to be yours. The night of your eighteenth birthday I spent hours rehearsing ways to invite you into the garden with me. Then you dashed off to sleep with the horses instead.”

“Would you have kissed me in the garden?” Timothy kicked out in his excitement and Nathaniel caught his feet in his hands. His toes were still cold, Timothy was surprised to realize. He was aflame but his feet were chilled. Nathaniel’s hands felt as hot as Timothy’s face. His thumbs slid down to the arch of Timothy’s feet. Then he nodded. 

“Oh yes.” Nathaniel’s desire was dry too—as dry as a tinderbox. “I was going to take my mother’s advice. I wanted to feel your mouth under mine again in better circumstances.” 

“I have no memory of that kiss.” Timothy extended his toes and shivered all over in surprise when Nathaniel’s fingers pressed there as well, big and warm, first through the slippers and then without them after pausing to remove them. 

“If you wished me to, I would kiss you again right now.” Nathaniel’s hands were doing things to Timothy’s ability to control his body. It seemed Nathaniel didn’t just have to be near, he could also touch Timothy to do this to him. 

Timothy panted but turned his head. “What about your lover? This is your room but you have not been sleeping here.” 

Nathaniel made a noise that was pleasingly rude. It seemed Timothy could spur the perfect prince as no one else could. “You do get ideas into your head, don’t you?” Nathaniel’s fingers curled around Tim’s ankles, hot as a firebrand. To think those servants had wondered about Nathaniel’s mouth when his hands were equally interesting. “I have not been sleeping, Little Prince, not a wink. I’m—I was—two months from a wedding to the man I love, a man who hates—hated—me. If you tell me you’ve been sleeping well, I will accuse you of lying.”

“The man you love.” Timothy gulped. “But I am Little Prince.” 

“ _My_ Little Prince,” Nathaniel countered and tugged on Timothy’s legs to bring him forward. Timothy’s hands landed on his shoulders, the same ones he had dreamt of night after night in his tower with his prick in his hand and no one to laugh at him. His heart was pounding, his skin raw with new sensations. He looked from Nathaniel’s eyes to his mouth. Timothy had succeeded in his best escape to date only to wind up here, his head tilted down for a kiss that was too slow in coming, a kiss he wanted among many other things. Things Prince Nathaniel might have given him sooner if he had only thought to ask. 

“There is no curse,” he murmured, letting the understanding shiver through him. “You’re my true love,” he realized all over again a moment later, and tumbled down from his seat to press their mouths together.

The End


End file.
